Clearly," said Arthur,"you're an idiot- but you're our kind of idiot. Come on.

It's not so much that the old friend is a better friend. It's just that you know the person better, and you know they don't really care if you're acting like a poor, grovelling idiot. They know you would do the same for them.

Liesel's blood had dried inside of her. It crumbled. She almost broke into pieces on the steps.

She closes the door completely, and I crouch there. I allow myself to fall forward and rest my head on the door frame. My breath bleeds. My heartbeat drowns my ears.

It amazes me what humans can do, even when streams are flowing down their faces and they stagger on, coughing and searching, and finding.

I'm not one of these 'the characters write themselves; the story just fell out of me' kind of writers. Wish it was like that.

If a guy like you can stand up and do what you did, then maybe everyone can. Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.